“Thank you, Amelia. Don’t flatter me or you’ll make me immodest.”
“A little confidence doesn’t do any harm.” Emily picked up the stained gown to take it away. She would have to attend to the stain immediately. Perhaps Joan would help her.
She had just got through the dressing room door and was turning to close it when she heard the bedroom door open and saw Loretta come in. She was wearing dove gray and silver and looked very feminine.
“Good gracious!” Her eyebrows rose when she saw Veronica. “Do you really think that’s suitable? It is most important you impress the French ambassador favorably, my dear, especially in front of the Danvers.”
Veronica drew a deep breath and let it out slowly. Emily could see her hand clench in the folds of her skirt.
“Yes, I think it’s perfectly suitable,” she said unsteadily. “Mr. Garrard Danver is an admirer of elegant clothes; he does not care for the ordinary.”
Loretta’s face colored deeply, then the blood drained away. “As you wish.” Her voice was tight. “But I don’t know why you are so late. You came up in plenty of time. Is your new maid no good?”
“She’s perfectly good-in fact she’s excellent. I changed my mind about what I was wearing. It wasn’t Amelia’s fault.”
“A pity. You were probably better advised the first time. Still, it’s too late now. Is that a tisane cup?”
“Yes.”
There was a moment’s silence. Then Loretta’s voice came quietly, with an edge to it but remaining perfectly controlled. She had moved slightly, so Emily could no longer see her face.
“Veronica, you must not start giving in to nerves. It is a self-indulgence you cannot afford. If you are ill we will call the doctor; otherwise you must exercise a little discipline, put a smile on your face, and come downstairs. You are already close to being late. It won’t do!”
There was silence. Emily pulled the door open an inch wider, but dared do no more in case the movement caught Loretta’s eye.
“I’m perfectly ready,” Veronica said at last.
“No you are not! Being ready is more than having your gown on and your hair done, Veronica.” Her voice sank lower and there was an urgency in it. “You must have your mind prepared as well. You are going to marry Julian Danver; don’t give anyone cause to doubt your happiness, least of all Julian himself, or his family. Smile; no one likes a sulky or nervous woman-women are expected to add to a man’s comfort and pleasure, to be easy company, not a strain! And no one willingly marries a woman whose health is not robust. We hide our petty complaints. Courage and dignity are expected of us-in fact, they are required.”
“Sometimes I hate you,” Veronica said so softly Emily only just heard her, but with a passion that made her skin crawl.
“And that too,” Loretta answered with stonelike calm, “is a self-indulgence you cannot afford, my dear, any more than I can.”
“Perhaps it would be worth it!” Veronica said between her teeth.
“Oh think again, my dear, think again,” Loretta answered her softly. Then quite suddenly her voice changed and became rasping, choked with fury. “Pull yourself together and stop your weak, stupid whining! I can only carry you so far, then you must look after yourself! I have done everything for you that I can, and it has not been as easy for me as you sometimes seem to think.”
There was a rustle of skirts, then the outer door opened and Emily heard an entirely new voice, a man’s, intelligent and individual.
“Are you ready, my dear? It’s time we went to greet our guests.”
That must be Piers York, the only person in the house Emily had not met. “Veronica, you look quite ravishing.”
“Thank you, Papa-in-law.” Veronica’s voice shook even with those few words.
“I am quite aware of the time, Piers,” Loretta said briskly, no trace of her previous emotion remaining; she had transformed it into a slight irritation at being checked up on. “I was reminding Veronica. She has a new maid, and new maids always take a little longer.”
“Oh, has she?” he said mildly. “Don’t think I’ve seen her.”
“No reason why you should,” Loretta answered. “You have enough to do without organizing the servants.”
Veronica was disposed to argue. “It wasn’t Amelia’s fault, it was mine. I changed my mind.”
“A costly thing to do.” There was warning under Loretta’s polite comment, and Veronica must know that as much as Emily. Only Piers was seemingly unaware of it.
“Nonsense, my dear. Lady’s privilege.”
This time Loretta did not argue. Again she changed, her tone becoming courteous and familiar. “Oh, Veronica and I know each other very well. We have shared much grief, so I assure you, my dear, we have no misunderstandings. She knows exactly what I mean. Come, it is past time we were downstairs. Our guests are due, and the Hollingsworths at least are never late. Most tedious.”
“I think they’re all rather tedious,” he said frankly. “I don’t know why we keep on having them here. Can’t see that it’s necessary.”
The rest of the evening was miserable. The kitchen was chaotic as the cook superintended the finishing and serving of a dozen different dishes. Mary was frantic with pastries, gravies, sauces and puddings. Redditch was busy in the cellars and the dining room, where John was, and Albert kept rushing back and forth. Nora was primped up and sweeping around with her skirts swishing, her apron so white and full of lace it looked like a breaking sea as she ordered the housemaids around imperiously. Prim was up to her elbows in the sink trying to get a start on the washing up, at least the saucepans, but as soon as she finished one pile another descended on her. Everyone’s temper was short, and any supper was to be snatched as the opportunity arose, only cold game pie being available-about the last thing Emily felt like eating.
It was not part of her duty, but Emily helped with the clearing up, washing and polishing glasses and putting away extra silver and plates. She could not comfortably go to bed leaving Mary, Prim, and Albert with that monstrous pile, and she needed as many allies as she could earn. Mrs. Crawford was now unalterably an enemy, since the butler had made his regard unfortunately plain. Nora was jealous and kept referring to Emily as “the Duchess,” and Edith made no secret of her contempt.
It was quarter to one, the wind whining outside and seeking every crack in the windows and every open door to send daggerlike drafts. Sleet battered against the glass when Emily climbed the last bare flight of the attic stairs and crept into her small, icy room. There was only a candle to light it and the bed was so cold it felt wet to the touch.
She took off her outer clothes and pulled on her nightgown over all her underwear, then turned back the blankets and slid into bed. She was so cold she was shaking and the tears came to her eyes in spite of all her determination. She rolled over, burying her face in the frozen pillow, and cried herself to sleep.
6
For once Charlotte managed to contain both her astonishment and her anxiety when she heard from Jack Radley about Emily’s extraordinary decision to disguise herself and go to the Yorks in service. Fortunately Jack had called early in the afternoon, so she had had plenty of time to recover her composure by the time Pitt returned home a little after six. Consequently he knew nothing about it and assumed in contented ignorance that Emily was sitting at home, where all Society and Pitt himself expected her to be.
He was deeply distressed over the death of the maid, Dulcie, not only because he had liked her but because he felt guilty. It was unreasonable, and he told himself so. She might very well have fallen out of her window accidentally and the whole matter was merely one of the numerous domestic tragedies that happen every year; but he could not seem to shake the fear that had she not told him about the strange woman in the house and the missing jewels, and had he not been careless enough to listen to her with the library door open, then she would still be alive.
At first he did not mention her death to Ballarat, sure that he would dismiss it as the Yorks’ misfortune and
